


The Road Home

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Identity Issues, Incest, M/M, Redemption, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: He stopped calling himself Kylo Ren three months ago, when he left the First Order. The fact that Kylo Ren was being haunted might just be the reason why he did both those things.





	The Road Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kurage_hime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage_hime/gifts).



He stopped calling himself Kylo Ren three months ago. The issue he has now is how hard it is to get anyone else to follow suit - at least anyone who's not a Skywalker, whether that's by blood or by association. 

He doesn't know where they are, because he'd not permitted to know where they are. He could find out if he wanted to but he understands why he shouldn't ask and it's not just because his mother's people might consider it rude if he waved a hand in the air and asked them to betray all their principles to suit his whim. They don't trust him, and he hates that because if he wasn't trustworthy then he wouldn't have given himself up, would he? But his mother says trust is earned and everyone still thinks him being there is some kind of First Order trap. She says he'll have to persevere, and prove them wrong. 

"She's right, you know," Luke says, as they're sitting in what they like to call Ben's quarters but it feels a lot more like a cell. He can come and go about the base, at least to certain non-sensitive areas that don't require him to have security clearance, but whenever he leaves he's under guard. He could slip them but when he floated that idea to Rey one day last week, not totally serious but not totally not, she sighed dramatically and called him an idiot. Her actual words were a lot more colorful and creative than that, involving words in several language Ben doesn't know and Luke cheerfully translated for him, but _idiot_ made as good a summary of her point as any. She's right, too - giving his escort the slip and sneaking around the base alone wouldn't exactly inspire confidence. She was right just like his mother was. 

"Is her being right meant to make it easier?" Ben asks, and Luke makes a sour face at him across the mostly dark room. There's a white-blue tinge to all his edges that's really only visible when all the lights are out, like the corona of a star; otherwise, looking at him under any normal circumstances, you wouldn't know he's dead at all. 

"You can't say you didn't know it was going to be hard," Luke says. "It was never going to be easy."

"Don't you dare say _nothing worthwhile ever is_."

Luke raises his brows and he sits forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He looks older than Ben remembers from back at the temple, scruffy round the edges, not the neat model of a Jedi Master he once was. Rey says that's how he looked when she knew him, though, and sometimes it tugs at him that this is what became of Luke Skywalker. This is what became of Luke because of him, though when he said that once Luke just rolled his eyes and snorted. He leans forward and it's dark in Ben's room so he can see the glow around him, faint unless he looks straight at it and then somehow it's almost blinding. 

"Plenty of worthwhile things are easy," Luke says. "Like breathing. You're breathing in and out without even thinking about it. Isn't that worthwhile?"

"You're only saying that because you can't," Ben points out. 

Luke shrugs to cede the point and says, "Sure, but that doesn't mean it's not true," and Ben sighs and rests his head against the wall, and he closes his eyes. 

"I don't remember you being like this when you were still alive," he says. 

"I was exactly like this," Luke replies. "You just don't like to remember it that way."

He doesn't hear Luke's footsteps on the plastcrete floor because Luke has no footsteps, not really, not unless he wants to, but he can feel him moving in the Force, his presence strong and clear. He doesn't try to stop him, since trying would be useless and honestly he doesn't really want to stop him anyway. So, Luke crosses the room and he sits down beside him on the bed with his back to the wall, so close his shoulder's pressed to his. He nudges Ben with his elbow. Ben gives a bitter little chuckle, then he turns and he sprawls on his back with his head on Luke's lap. The fingers of Luke's metal hand brush back his hair. Considering Luke's dead, it all feels very real. 

Six months ago, this would have made no sense at all to Ben. It would have made even less sense to Kylo Ren, but now here he is on a Rebel base with his hair getting caught in the only partly-existent plates of his dead uncle's mechanical limb and he laughs out loud because there's nothing else for it while Luke gets the two of them untangled. He's betrayed everything he thought he wanted for a cause that was never his to begin with and still isn't really even now. He's betrayed everything he thought his grandfather wanted and that he did so much work to try to complete. All he can say is he's known for a while now that none of that really means a thing, because everything he did was based on a misconception. 

The beginning of the end of his time as Supreme Leader of the First Order was the time that he saw his first ghost. He didn't know that was what it was, not right away - it was just a flash in the corner of his eye almost like the brief glint of the sun on metal, there and then gone again by the time he'd turned to look. He saw it again and again, for a week and then two, just once or twice but each and every day until he almost took himself to find the nearest well-programmed med droid. But then he started seeing more. He saw movement when the corridors and rooms weren't so dark, too, the flat of a cloak, a figure disappearing just around the next corner or the last one when he turned to look, always out of focus, never clear at all. He supposed it made sense. He supposed he knew who and what it was, after all. He didn't need the med droid. It was just his dead uncle Luke come back to haunt him. 

Once he'd come to that conclusion, he could feel Luke's presence in the Force. Luke felt different than before, like him but somehow not him, though that made perfect sense when he considered the recent demise of Luke Skywalker on Crait or wherever his body had actually been at the time. He'd felt it when Luke had passed like a cold blade between his ribs, like a stab of regret he'd never expected to have, though at the time he'd told himself the course of his regret was that he hadn't killed him personally, like Luke had tried to do to him not so very long ago. 

Over the weeks, he became accustomed to that presence. Luke followed everywhere he went in his attempts to track down Leia Organa and her dwindling band of comrades. He could feel him, hanging back just out of sigh, a near-constant to his every moment that tugged at the frayed edges of his consciousness, tempting him to unravel. He felt him there in every meeting with the admirals, every time he threatened bodily harm to General Hux, every time he launched his TIE or turned on the shower or stretched out in bed at night. He grew accustomed, but he didn't grow easy. The truth was, he felt Luke was there to haunt him into madness or defeat, whichever came first. But, not to be outdone by someone he'd outlived, Kylo Ren had a plan. 

One night, lying uneasy in his bed, he made up his mind to do it. The next night, having talked down his unease and talked up his frustration, he actually did it. He kicked down the sheets and caught the waistband of his sleep pants with his thumbs, lifted his hips and pushed them down. He stripped himself naked and he lay there in his room, in the dark, and he parted his thighs. Subtlety be damned, he wrapped one hand around his cock and stroked himself. He wondered if it would chase Luke away, or if he'd pay more attention in death than he had in life. He knew which was the more likely outcome, considering how clear Luke had always been on that score. 

He was thinking about Luke as he stroked himself, like he'd done so many times before, back at the temple, before the end of that. He'd never been sure at the time why it was that Luke fascinated him - he'd tried to meditate on it but he'd just ended up even more frustrated, asked himself if it was just because he'd given him at least a degree of the attention that he'd always wanted from his parents and so his body and his brain had just extrapolated oddly from it, or maybe it was admiration, or desperation, or maybe it was just _Luke_. Whatever the reason for it was, he'd had Luke in his head every time he'd touched himself for literally years. 

He'd imagined every way it might happen, fantasised about it, training missions gone wrong, pirates forcing them to fuck for entertainment, aphrodisiacs, or maybe it would turn out to be some long-forgotten Jedi rite, an initiation, his master's solemn duty. He thought about Luke there in his room, telling him he knew it was wrong but he just couldn't help himself, and Ben would say he understood, it was fine, he wanted the same thing, too. He imagined the relief on Luke's face, and the hesitation, and how he'd have to make the first move; he imagined how he'd get out of bed and get down on his knees and he'd suck him. He imagined Luke bending him down over his desk and fucking him, gripping his hips, telling him how much he'd wanted this and for how long. But every time Luke caught him watching him, he'd always frowned and looked away. Toward the end, he wouldn't even be alone with him. 

Ben stroked himself, and he thought about Luke, but it wasn't him participating - what it was he thought about was Luke just watching him. He thought about how horrified he'd be if he saw him like that, naked, gasping, cock in hand. He thought about him staring, frozen, and the thought of Luke's eyes on him just made his cock that much harder till he groaned against his free forearm and bucked his hips and came. The sad fact was it was the best he'd had in months. 

He did it again the next night, kneeling naked on the mattress with his head thrown back in the dark. He did it again the next night, too, perched on the edge of the bed with his knees spread wide, and the next night, bent down low over his desk with his free hand clamped down over his mouth. And those flashes and movements that caught his eye didn't stop, not even close - there were _more_ , till he was on edge almost every second of the day and night, till all he did was snap and curse and grimace and wait impatiently for the hour that he could slip away to bed. He wasn't winning, but he couldn't stop. The only peace he had was in the moments after he'd stroked himself to orgasm, with his uncle Luke inside his head. 

Weeks passed like that. Dangerous weeks where every second was a struggle not to shout out loud and break his fists on the nearest wall or bring the whole base crashing down around their ears. He had bruises over his thighs just above each knee where he squeezed so he could make it through his daily meetings. He clenched his jaw till it ached. Then, after dark, he went down on the floor on his hands and knees, he oiled his fingers and he took a hitching breath as he fucked himself with them, as he leaned lower, spread his knees wider, rested against one shoulder and slipped his other hand down to his aching cock. As he gasped, his breath fogging against the cold metal deck plates, he wondered just how appalled Luke was. He hoped it made him hard. More likely than that was it made him sick. 

A month passed like that, till the Supreme Leader was all set to dangle at the end of his own rope. And then, one night, he stepped into his quarters and he realised he was not alone. There was a figure in the chair, fuzzy and unclear except for a blue-white aura; he couldn't see its face for the hood of the cloak it was wearing, a strange darkness, utterly black like a tear in the fabric of the universe where a person should have been. It had to be Luke, of course, perhaps still struggling to punch through fully into the galaxy from wherever it was he'd gone to when he'd died - he felt that same presence in the Force when he reached out, which just seemed to confirm it. So, he didn't say a word. He just stripped off his clothes and he knelt on the floor at Luke's feet, and he stroked himself until he groaned and came against the deck plates. When he opened his eyes, Luke was gone. 

He was there the next night, sitting there, unmoving. He was there the next night, and the _next_ night, and Kylo stripped, and he stroked himself; he did it standing there naked in front of him that first night till his come spattered the floor between Luke's feet, and the second he sprawled on the bed, one leg draped off the side of it with his foot on the floor, his back arching, the sheets screwed up tight in his free hand. He wanted him to move. He wanted him to speak even more than he wanted him to move. He wanted him to tell him he was ashamed of him, that he disgusted him, that he wished he'd killed him when he'd had the chance. He wanted to hear Luke's voice. He was fairly sure he could have come just from the sound of it, but he didn't speak a word. 

The next night, he leaned over the desk. He slicked his fingers and he rubbed them both in between his cheeks, teasing the rim of his own hole while Luke watched him. He pushed there with his fingertips till they pressed in slowly, shifted his feet wide apart and bent lower and fucked himself slowly with the length of them. He wanted Luke to move, and he wanted him to speak, but he didn't expect either thing. When he felt a pair of hands at his hips, he expected it so little that it made him tense right down the length of his spine and quickly pull his fingers back out. 

One hand was warm and one was cold and metallic and the fact of it being _Luke's_ hands made his face flush hot and his blood pulse in his veins. He felt ghostly human fingers trailing over his back, down his spine, to the cleft of his ass. He felt those fingers teasing at his hole, _Luke's_ fingers, pushing into him, slow but firm, like he'd imagined. Then he pulled back and there was something else, the slick length of Luke's cock against him, lurid, slipping between his cheeks, rubbing over his hole. Kylo held onto the desk with both hands as Luke moved, as he pushed the tip of his cock against him, as he pushed the tip of his cock _inside_ him, big and thick and hot, sheathing himself in Kylo's body. 

He felt lightheaded, every nerve in him alight and alert and singing with the pleasure of the friction as Luke began to move in him, gripping tightly at his hips. His breath came in ridiculous hitches that he couldn't even out so he stopped trying to and Luke moved slowly, pushed deep, made the desk rock with the force of it as he fucked him. Kylo's face was flushed hot and his cock was so hard it hurt and he felt like he might throw up at any second he wanted it so fucking much. He pushed back to meet him and made himself moan out loud with it. Uncle Luke was fucking him. It made his chest feel tight and his cock feel heavy and he bit his lip to keep from saying his name. 

Of course, this thing he'd wanted for so long just couldn't last. All he could think about was _why_ \- why now? Had Luke's death messed him up that much? Did he even really want it? Was it guilt? Was it shame? His head swam with fucking _why_ , and Luke fucked him, and Kylo's hands slipped against the tabletop and Luke _fucked him_ , and Kylo's breath misted the metal and he moaned with every thrust of Luke's cock inside him. All it took to make him come in the end was a moment of Luke's hot hand at his throbbing erection and he emptied himself in a searing fucking rush against the edge of the desk, his asshole pulling tight around Luke's length in him, in spasms, in waves. And he could feel it when Luke came inside him, a few last deep, hard thrusts, arrhythmic, jerking, squeezing hard at his hips as he filled him up with his insubstantial fucking ghostly come. 

The Luke pulled back, pulled out, stepped away, and Kylo pushed up and turned around. His throat went tight. He clenched his fists. 

"You're not Luke," he said. 

The Jedi tucking himself back into his dark tunic looked at him and frowned. 

"Did you think I was?" he asked. 

"Yes!" Kylo jabbed his blunt nails into his palms. It made no sense at all. When he reached out with the Force, he still felt that same presence that he'd felt all along, so much like Luke except it wasn't Luke. It _wasn't Luke_. Perhaps it never had been. 

"Who are you?" Kylo asked. 

The Jedi smiled wryly. "I thought you knew," he said. 

"I don't."

"Yeah, apparently." The Jedi sighed. He shook his head. Then he ran a metal hand through his hair, like Luke's but different, and Kylo's stomach clenched and sank because in that moment, he understood. 

"Grandfather," he said. His voice sounded choked and tight, just like it felt. 

"Hello, Ben," Anakin said, and then he disappeared straight into the air. Kylo fucking screamed and he crumpled the metal desk with one twitch of the Force. Two quick paces and he rested his forehead down against the nearest wall. He squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been so very, very wrong. 

It had never been Luke. It had always been Anakin. And the next night, when he went back to his room, there he was again, that same black hole of a presence in the chair. He'd told himself he wouldn't do it but he stripped right there in front of him, down to his bare skin and his scars. He'd had it in his mind all night and then all day, no idea how to explain it, _Darth Vader_ , the feel of his hands on his skin and his cock inside him. He went down on his knees. He was overwhelmed. He'd never expected to see him, not really, not ever. 

"Why are you here?" Kylo asked, his head bowed, and the figure stood, and it stepped closer, and out of it formed the shape of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin pushed back Kylo's hair with one hand as he stood there, dressed like a Jedi and not what he'd become after that. Kylo couldn't understand why he'd appear to him that way. He wasn't sure he wanted to understand. 

"Luke," Anakin said. 

"He asked you to come?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Kylo looked up, at this man that he'd idolised, who had his hair tangled around his fingers. "Why now? Why not when _I_ asked?"

Anakin smiled ironically. "We figured right now I couldn't make things any worse," he said. 

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do." Anakin tilted up Kylo's chin with his gloved metal hand. "This has gone too far, Ben."

"I thought this was what you wanted. I thought you'd be proud."

"I'm not," Anakin said, and it twisted like a knife in Kylo's gut. "Not of this. All those people, Ben. Your father. This was Palpatine's dream and in the end, I killed him for it."

Kylo grimaced. He slapped Anakin's hand away. 

"I don't understand," he said again, and he wanted to be angry, and he wanted to scream, but all he did was sink back onto his heels and rake his hair back from his face with one hand, pulling on it like the sharp sensation of it might help him to make sense of things somehow. It didn't. It didn't help at all, and he knew he understood. There were hot tears stinging in his eyes and he hated it, all of it, that it wasn't Luke, that he cared at all, that Anakin's opinion even mattered at all, except it did. Weeks of teetering on the edge and this was what he had to show for it - a disappointed grandfather who he'd only ever wanted to please. 

"You're so much like me," Anakin said, and Kylo fucking laughed except it sounded more like a sob. "I wish you'd been more like your grandmother. She'd say she wasn't perfect, but she wasn't...this."

Kylo clenched his jaw and clenched his thighs in his hands. 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. 

"Because I'm sorry. I should have been here."

Kylo rubbed his eyes. He rubbed his face. 

"And last night? What was that? Was that meant to help?" 

"Luke had a theory." 

"That if you fucked me I'd be nice?" he said, and Anakin winced. 

"That we could bring you back. You just need to let us."

Then the presence was gone. And all Kylo had it left in him to do was drag himself to bed to wonder which would happen first - sleep, or smothering himself with his own fucking pillow to escape whatever this fucking travesty of his life turned out to be. 

The figure was there the next night, and he stripped and knelt and stroked himself and ANakin didn't say a word or even come out of darkness into focus. It was there the next night, and Kylo fucked himself with his fingers as he knelt there at its feet, not sure if he felt more turned on or more humiliated or just equal parts of both. But then, the next night, the figure wasn't there. He sat down naked on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands and he realised, awfully, that being alone was even worse than what he'd had before. It was such an aching void at that moment that when he felt a presence in the Force, coming closer, his traitorous fucking heart leapt up. He looked up. He expected Anakin. All he could see was black, but he really didn't care. 

A hidden hand brushed against his cheek. A pair of hidden hands cupped at his jaw. All he could see was black and so he closed his eyes and felt Anakin's forehead come down to rest against his. And then he moved, and then he kissed him, Anakin's mouth on his, like he was really there and not so many years dead. Anakin pushed him down onto the bed and Kylo spread his legs and then Anakin was between them, over him, his mouth at Kylo's throat just for a moment till he pulled back and he knelt. He eased one of Kylo's calves up over his shoulder and Kylo's fingers gripped tight at the sheets as Anakin's fingers brushed between his cheeks, against his hole. The next time he touched him there, his fingers were slick, and he probed just lightly with the tips, one then the other then both, maddening, making Kylo lift his hips. Anakin's fingers entered him in one swift, deep push up to his knuckles that made Kylo gasp out loud. Then he fucked him with them, slowly, till he was rocking his hips and arching his back like maybe that would mean he could take him in deeper. 

Anakin pulled back. Kylo could hear him slicking up his cock and his own twitched at the thought of it, knowing what he was about to do. Maybe Anakin wasn't proud of him but Kylo told himself, as he felt the thick tip of his cock push up against him, that this was maybe the next best thing. He wasn't proud of him, but he wanted him. 

Anakin pushed in. He did it slowly, by fractions, till Kylo was breathless and desperate beneath him. When he was in, deep, as deep as he could go, Kylo wrapped his legs around his waist, cinching his ankles together at the small of Anakin's back. Then he moved, slowly, shifting inside him, leaning over him, making Kylo's head reel. 

"Look at me," he said, his voice low and strained, and Kylo's heart skipped, it thudded, his body tingling cold because it couldn't be. It couldn't be. 

He opened his eyes. "Luke," he said. "I--"

Luke leaned down low and kissed him and Kylo didn't care about whatever he'd been about to say or the awkward angle of his back or anything at all because he had his hands in Luke's hair and his legs around Luke's waist and Luke was in him, Luke was fucking him, _Luke_ , not Anakin. He groaned against his mouth and the sound Luke Made in response was just as urgent. When Luke pulled back, his cheeks flushed, his breath short, Kylo watched him, his face, his eyes, pushing back his hair with both hands and then lifting them to the headboard to push against him, meeting every jarring thrust. When Luke came, he came, his back arching hard. He wasn't disappointed by the reality of it the way he'd thought he might be. Somehow, his skin flushed hot and damp with sweat, an ache in his back and the deep stretched of his hole around his uncle's cock surpassed everything he'd imagined. 

Luke pulled out of him slowly and sat back on his heels between Kylo's knees. He rubbed his thighs with his hands. His mouth twisted, almost but not quite a smile. 

"I know what you're thinking," Kylo said. 

Luke raised his brows. "Oh really?"

"You're asking yourself if I might have stayed if we'd done this five years ago."

"Would you?"

Kylo shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe. I guess we'll never know." 

"Is it too late?"

"You're dead."

Luke quirked a brow. "Looking past that for a second."

"Looking past the fact you're dead, I don't know."

Luke nodded. Luke left the bed. He pulled on his cloak over his bare skin, and Kylo sat up. He watched him vanish, and he knew he wished he'd said anything it might have taken to make him stay, and not the truth. 

The next night, the figure came again, and when Kylo had stripped and knelt, he said, "So, which one of you is it?"

It was Luke that stood up out of the chair and went down on his knees in front of him, his sleeves turned back and his hands at Kylo's hips. But then he felt another movement in the Force and Anakin's arms circled his waist from behind, his clothed chest against the bare skin of Kylo's back. He understood then: what he'd felt in the Force since that first day, that presence, had never been just one or the other. It had always been both of them. They'd been there together, with him. 

Anakin had him like that, on his knees on the floor, while Luke looked him in the eye and stroked his cock until he came. Then the two of them traded places and Luke had him the exact same way, his hands at Kylo's hips, thrusting up inside, while Anakin's fingers rubbed against his perineum and made him come again against his stomach as all his muscles trembled. 

"You want me to betray the First Order," he said, after, looking at them both across the room from the bed. He'd had the desk replaced and Anakin was sitting on it, swinging his legs in a way that looked normal on him but could never have fit the Anakin Skywalker that he'd carried around inside his head. Luke was back down in the chair. 

"Yes," Luke confirmed, straightforwardly. "That's exactly what we want."

"Why should I?"

Anakin left the table. He walked across the room to Luke, moved behind him and leaned down against the back of his chair. In the half-dark, Kylo was almost convinced he could see the family resemblance. 

"Because we'll be there with you," Anakin said. 

"I don't know if that makes a difference," Kylo said, but looking at them then he knew it did. He knew exactly what his answer was, because he knew if he went with them then they'd never leave. He would always have the two of them. And he would never have to be alone. 

Three months ago, he stopped calling himself Kylo Ren. Ben Solo gave himself up to the resistance, and he told them everything he knew. Now here he is, sitting in his room that's also a cell with his dead uncle who's also his lover, knowing the only thing between him and summary execution is that he's his mother's son. 

Leaving the First Order didn't happen all at once. He knew he had to go, of course, but he wrestled with _how_ for over a month, talking it over with Luke and with Anakin in his room at night. That wasn't all they talked about and it's still not; Anakin tells him about the things he did under Palpatine's command and Ben names the things he did for Snoke. He understands that they were both influenced but they still made their choice. He's not more blameless than his grandfather is, but there's still plenty of blame to go around. 

In the end, he blew up a hangar full of TIE fighters, left Starkiller Base and made every call he could to every last old ally of his mother's he remember just to make her understand where she could find him. She didn't come herself - she sent Rey instead, who still wanted to see the best in him. He went quietly, handing her his lightsaber as he boarded her ship, and he remembers the look on her face when she told Luke, _I thought you were dead_ and he told her, _well, you're not wrong_. But what he remember most is Anakin, when they landed, and Ben let himself be put in chains. 

"Now I'm proud of you," he said, and Ben could see he was telling him the truth. Somehow, over the weeks and months since he'd first appeared, what Anakin Skywalker thought of him had come to matter more to him than what Darth Vader might. 

Luke untangles his fingers from Ben's hair as Ben laughs hopelessly and then they stretch out together on the bed that's barely big enough for one, let alone two, but so far that hasn't stopped them trying. Anakin will be there soon, too - he's with Rey now, helping with her training the way they all do sometimes, even Ben. She believes there's good in him, though looking at the things he's done he's not so sure of that himself. His name might be Ben Solo but he's a Skywalker through and through, and they are capable of such unconscionable things. Maybe the only thing keeping him from more is the ghosts of dead Jedi who've claimed him as their, and he knows that he's one of them. He can't help but wonder what kind of man he would have been, if only. 

Luke kisses him, slowly, in the dark where the only glimmer of light is the aura that surrounds him. Ben can feel him in the Force, indistinguishable from Anakin, and he thinks one day what he is will add to what they are till he's indistinguishable, too. But there's still a lot he has left to do. 

Sometimes he wonders what kind of man he might have been. And, with their help, he hopes that he might still find out.


End file.
